


The Eyass and the Passager

by coffee_mage



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Hybrid, Camp Nanowrimo, Coming of Age, F/M, Gen, Happy birthday Write, Hraxian, M/M, Mentions of Abortion, Mentions of Rape, Questionable hygiene, Ravagers aren't actually the good guys, Recovery, Slavery, The 99th, Xandarians can be racist asshats, life of a child born of rape, the angst fic of doom is real
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2018-12-12 15:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11739699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_mage/pseuds/coffee_mage
Summary: Eyass (n) In falconry, an unfledged nestling taken for training.Passager (n) In falconry, a wild-caught bird caught in juvenile plumage for training.Kraglin Obfonteri was born a hybrid on a colony that never wanted him.  Sick of surviving, he runs away with the Ravagers to find a future that will let him live.  A mission into a Kree battle camp finds a slave so damaged he can't do anything for himself, not eat, speak, move.  As an unwanted recruit, Kraglin is put in charge of the slave's care.Kraglin doesn't know what he's doing with this broken person.  He's barely more than a kid himself and Stakar is breathing down his neck, trying to make sure he does it right.Or: The one in which Kraglin Obfonteri learns how to be a person while teaching Yondu Udonta what being a person means.





	1. Taking Flight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Write_like_an_American](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_like_an_American/gifts).



> This story is a birthday present for the ever fantabulous Write_like_an_American. It's based off of a prompt they shared over in the 99th. 
> 
> "a thing where a surly, grumpy eighteen year old Kraglin is left in charge of a non-verbal and super-damaged just-freed Yondu by Stakar."
> 
> I took some liberties here and there. The story does not *actually* contain underage sexual activities, though one character is *very slightly* underage at the beginning. This monster is in excess of 75000 words and is being betaed by CloudedRhyme, without whom this story would not be possible. My lovely wife and girlfriend both take a look over it and I love them dearly. I also owe a tribute to the 99th for encouragement and the 4th for double checking my chapter divisions.
> 
> Sorry it's not complete yet, Cap'n. Happy birthday, yeah?
> 
> (Also this story contains a freeform of Hraxians, a species created by RedRareBit and Write_like_an_American. I've taken a lot of liberties there)

Most people locked the hatches to their homes the day the Ravager ships came. The colony was so accustomed to being bombarded and robbed that they just closed the hatches, locked them and hoped whoever was invading didn't have good enough cutters to get through the armoured doors. Sure, they always put out a distress call to Nova Corps when someone invaded, but it was little better than rolling the dice in terms of actually getting defense personnel in time. Unless it was the Kree, but 'in time' with the Kree meant 'someone would come identify the bodies.'

Some never bothered locking the hatches, though they still went down them. There was no way to get underground other than the hatches and if you weren't underground at second sunrise, you were probably going to die from solar radiation. Even if it was just Ravagers, you couldn't be sure of safe passage back to your hatch--even if it was unlocked. The raiders came so often that for many it was just habit to lock down the hatches, no matter who remained outside. It wasn't cruelty. It was survival.

Kraglin Obfonteri knew about survival. He'd been surviving on the colony since before he'd been born. Children were all meant to be born wanted, their embryo chosen carefully for its health, especially in the colonies where poor health meant an additional burden. Kraglin hadn't been wanted. Kraglin hadn't been chosen. But whatever his father had been--and all he knew was it wasn't Xandarian--even as fetus, Kraglin had been immune to whatever his mother had taken to try and purge him. He’d survived other things--bad food and illnesses that had killed some of his peers.  He hadn't ever tried with solar radiation. He didn't know if he'd survive second sunrise.  He might not. When the Ravagers came, though, Kraglin decided he didn't care.

If the sun got him, Kraglin wouldn't be missed. If he managed to get picked up and taken elsewhere, he wouldn't be missed. Either way, it would be a relief to his family. They'd never question it too hard. His mother would be glad not to have the constant reminder; the man she was married to would be happy to have a clean start, a chance to try for a family of his own. He'd been kind enough to marry her after the raid.  He’d never complained about Kraglin’s existence.  He’d discussed other children with her, been interested in building their family.  She’d declared that the risk to Kraglin if anyone had found out what he was meant they didn’t dare have other children who might talk about some of their brother’s weirdness without realizing.

He'd been hiding his whole life, the monster lurking amongst civilized beings and he was tired of it. He was sick to death of his mother telling him not to let anyone see him doing anything that might stand out. His grades had to be average. He hadn't ever been allowed to play with other children for any length of time in case someone figured something out. It had cost his mother a great deal to get the noted irregularities removed from his birth certificate, and she had refused to ever let him 'waste' those units by taking risks.

Kraglin was done holding himself back, done surviving. He wanted a chance to be free, wanted a chance to try for something different. As long as he stayed part of the colony, as long as he stayed in exclusively Xandarian spaces or even primarily Xandarian ones, he would have to live as a Xandarian. He would have to keep his head down and keep his mouth shut as much as possible to avoid anyone seeing his strange dentition. He would, in short, be nothing and no one for as long as he lived--and he held no illusions that his would be a long life. One day, he would make a mistake and someone would see him for what he was.  

If it was someone his mother's age, they'd realize immediately what had happened--that he was the result of the raid that had brought whoever or whatever his father had been to their colony--and they would resent him, hate him, want him dead and gone and destroyed. He'd seen it before. The colony didn't like hybrids. There were a few, ones he'd sat in classrooms with and laughed at quietly while the other kids mocked them and beat them, all the while knowing that their only chance at a decent life was to get out of Xandarian space.

But when the Ravagers came, he hid behind the mound for a hatch a few over from his family's. He'd never understood why each family had their own hatch when they didn't use them for going most places.  Most people used the underground network.  His mother had told him once that the hatches were for fresh air, but Kraglin always felt much more comfortable in the more cramped tunnels in the network, curled up in near-darkness. He heard his mother call from their hatch once, twice, and after the third time, he heard the familiar screech-clank as it shut. She probably thought he was in one of the tunnels. It wasn't unreasonable to assume. He didn't like the surface in the daytime, and she knew it.  She'd spent years trying to convince him he should spend more time out in the sun, but the brighter light hurt his eyes and made him squint.

He hoped the Ravager ships were darker than the surface of the planet. He hoped they were darker than the homes of the colony, with their lights set bright enough to make everyone believe they weren't huddled underground.  He _wanted_ to be huddled underground, but failing that he'd take the void.

The hatches clanged shut around him and finally he got to his feet. Second sunrise wasn't too far off and the sky was getting ever brighter as the second sun approached the horizon. He realized he was going to have to run if he wanted to make it to where the Ravagers were landing without getting hit with solar radiation.  He was built more for sprinting than long-distance running, but enough rapidfire sprints put back to back and it was, he thought, almost the same. He made it into the shadow of the largest ship with scarce minutes to spare. He was panting hard by the time he reached the ramp.  

He didn't see any people, but they had to have been watching, because as soon as he set a boot onto the ramp he heard the click-whine of a weapon coming online.  A man stepped down onto the ramp.  The man levelled the weapon at Kraglin and he tensed, waiting for the blast to hit him. It didn't matter anymore if he lived or died, but by the Celestials he needed out of here.

"We're not planning to invade your homes, kid, you don't gotta be a hero," the man said.  "We're just clearing out the ship's atmosphere and then taking off. Get back home."

Kraglin thought about running. He considered calling the whole thing off, taking his chances with the second dawn radiation and running full-tilt to try and get back to an unlocked hatch. He took a deep breath and stood a little straighter. "I'm not here to fight you. I'm here to join you."

The man's lips twitched and he looked Kraglin up and down. "You're what, twelve?  Ravagers do a lot of shit, but we don't deal in kids."

"I'm eighteen standard cycles."

"You're serious, kid?"

"I'm not a kid. I'm just a little small for my age. You want to see my ID?" Kraglin offered his wrist unit for inspection.

The man shook his head, rolled his eyes and sighed. "Gimme a minute."

"There's not much time. Second sunrise is soon and if I'm not under cover, I'll probably die."

"I said _gimme a minute_." The man stepped back up the ramp, lowering his weapon and disappearing out of sight.  

Kraglin shifted uncomfortably. It was getting hot out, hot enough he knew he’d want to sleep soon. He preferred it a little cool if he was going to be moving around, and the sun was starting to really get to his eyes. He didn't want to be above-ground if he wasn't on one of the ships. All he wanted was to get off the damn planet. He closed his eyes and waited.

"Kid.” A new voice startled him and he opened his eyes. The man who came this time was taller and broader than the first man. He swaggered down into Kraglin's space, forcing him to back up. He wore a flame on his chest rather than his shoulder. He looked Kraglin over from head to toe. "What the hell are you doing? You don't want to join us. It's not some kind of game. You don't get to just run away and become a pirate, then run home to mommy."

Kraglin shrugged. "If you don't take me, then kill me. I'm good with either one, but I'm not going back. They don't want me here."

"Neither do we."

"I don't care if you want me. I just care if I get out of here, because I don't have any kind of future if I stay. I'm tired of living through the raids, and I'm tired of just being here reminding my mother about the worst raid of her life. Take me with you. I'll do anything you want. I'm good in tight spaces. I'd be a good janitor or whatever."

"Every kid feels like their mama doesn't love them at your age, and every one of them's wrong."

Kraglin shrugged again. "Not me. Mine didn't want me from the second whatever my father was squirted his dick in her. She tried to get rid of me and it didn't work out, and then she was stuck with me."

The man raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. Kraglin felt like he was being tested.  "What do you mean by that?"

"I don't know, exactly. I've never been able to calculate the dates and figure out what species raided the colony to make me.  I'm not sure what I am. I'm not really Xandarian. Mom had to make sure no one found out, so I can't be something good. I need off this planet, and I need out of Xandarian space because I don't know what I am, but I'm not what they are."

"So you're on some kind of quest to find your real family?" The man snickered and shook his head, turning to go back.

"I don't give a fuck about family," Kraglin snapped. If the man was going to leave, maybe he could just have a _little_ mercy and shoot him so he didn't have to die in the sun. "It's not some quest. I want to do something with my life. I'm not even allowed to spend time alone with other people here, or someone might figure out I'm not like them. I'm tired of hiding. I'd rather be dead."

"You don't mean that." The man turned back, staring intently into Kraglin's eyes.

"I fucking well do! If you leave me here, that's fine. The solar radiation will get me and I'll die. I'm okay with that, because it means my family's gonna have a chance for a kid that's actually theirs, someone who's not a monster. It means I won't have to keep my head down and my mouth shut. It means I won't have to spend all my time trying to stay totally calm so my teeth look normal."

"Your teeth?"

Kraglin swallowed and concentrated for a second, then opened his mouth and snapped his jaws.  A set of jagged, needle-like fangs dropped down behind his teeth, and he gnashed them together.

The man blinked, astonishment visible. "You really aren't Xandarian, are you?"

He had to pause a moment before he could answer, trying to get his tongue in place to speak without stabbing it. The second set of teeth weren't exactly built for a lot of speech, so he ended up having to work his jaw a few times and get them to retract partway. "Half, at least, but no, not all the way. I don’t know what I am and I seriously don't care. I just want a chance to be a person rather than... this. I just want a chance."

"You're a whiny little shit."

"You can train it out of me or toss me out an airlock."

"I can. I hate wasting atmosphere to space people, though."

"Then wait until we're somewhere else and kick me out. If you just give me a chance, I can prove I'm useful. You don't have to pay me, not for the first standard cycle. Just give me one chance."

The man cackled.  "No pay for a whole cycle? You're a really shitty negotiator, you know that?"

"I don't have anything to negotiate with other than me. I'll work for food and air, hard as you want. I'm good at fixing stuff, good in the dark. I'm not afraid of anything. I've spent most of my life in tight quarters with other people, so I'm not gonna go ship-mad. You maybe don't need me, but I can be useful. I promise I can be useful. Just give me a chance, please."

"We don't deal in slaves."

"Well, good, because I don't want to have slaves. Who the hell wants slaves?"

"You just offered yourself into slavery, kid.  I'm not fucking around when I say you're bad at negotiating."

"Then pay me the minimum so I'm not a slave. I'm telling you. I  _don't care_."

The man huffed out a harsh breath of air.  "What's your name?"

"Kraglin Obfonteri."

The man nodded and hit a few buttons on his wrist unit. "Says here you're Xandarian.  They don't exactly not note weird shit like your teeth.  They’re big on proper documentation."

"My mother paid the docs a lot to keep it quiet so I wouldn't get pulled out of school.  They're not big on exposing their kids to monsters." Kraglin shifted uncomfortably.  

"Bribe like that would've cost a lot. You say your mother doesn't love you?" The man didn't take his eyes off his wrist but Kraglin felt like he was being observed anyway, and observed closely.

"My mother did it to save herself from embarrassment. She told me, flat out. She didn't want to end up ostracized because on the colony that means you're gonna end up dead. I don't want her dead. She did her best but that's not the same as giving me a real chance."

"She gave you a pretty big chance. You fly with us, you'll end up with a record and those teeth'll get noticed. I don't think this is the right place for you, kid."

Kraglin shook his head. "There's no other place for something like me! Take me. Kill me. Just pick."

The man tapped his wrist unit a few more times. "Doesn't look like you got any skills I need."

"I'm not allowed to do anything here. If I do something and someone notices I do it differently or that I do it better or worse than all the other kids, someone might realize I'm not actually a person, and _that's_ going to mean my mother wasted those units."

"Sounds like you're between an asteroid and a comet, kid, but it isn't my damn problem."

"I don't want to make it your problem. I want a job."

"We don't deal in kids. Says here you're a minor."

"For _half_ a quarter-cycle. That's nothing. I'll be legally an adult before you'd manage to get from here to Knowhere if you don't take the jumps!"

"That's true, but it doesn't make you an adult."

"You won't be here in half a quarter-cycle. I don't know when my next opportunity is. I don't know if I'm going to be able to find another chance to get away from here that doesn't mean just walking in front of the Kree!"

The man prodded another couple times at his wrist unit. "Huh, looks like your age was wrong. Turns out my wrist unit wasn't logged into the right time here or something, cause it looks like you hit eighteen today."

"I ain't--"

"I said it looks like you _hit eighteen today._ Ain't that right, Obfonteri?"

Kraglin tipped his head to the side. "Uh, yeah, actually?"

"Good. We'll get you outfitted and find you a bunk, then you can report to the hangar for cleaning duty. We need to get some of the exhaust soot off the damn walls in there before it corrodes the metal and you can start there. Get all the walls done and we can talk about you staying on."

"Okay. Uh, who's the captain here? Is he gonna go along with this?"

The man laughed. "I am. Stakar Ogord. I'm the captain of the Starhawk.  We’re the fourth clan, that means we’re pretty high up."  

"Oh. Uh, sorry, Captain."

"Don't worry about it. Just don't let me catch you whining. Any of that damn whining and I'll drop you off next planet I see and not give a fuck if it's spacefaring, clear? And you tell anyone-- _anyone_ \--about the little mistake with my wrist unit and your birthday and _I_ will space you."

Kraglin nodded.

Stakar turned and strode up the ramp. "And don't fall behind. I'm not a tour guide.  Quartermaster, bunk, hangar. That's all I got time to show you."

Kraglin didn't fall behind. Kraglin never fell behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was much longer coming than I expected. I had computer issues (did not lose any story, don't worry) and then I took longer going over the edits than I expected. My bad. But here it is. Chapter two. Beware gore and death!

Life on a Ravager ship wasn't easy. It didn't seem to go according to plan on any given day, even when your only plan was 'scrub the walls of this enormous fucking room.' It was the worst job Kraglin could have been given, and he had learned something about himself--he hated heights. Still, he didn't complain. He couldn't: complaints would mean that he got left behind, and he had already seen Stakar turn down enough green recruits to know just how lucky he had gotten.  

That didn't mean there wasn't grumbling on the ship, though, and there was no day with more grumbling than the day that Stakar announced they'd be raiding a Kree battle camp. Unlike on the colony, the ‘grumbling’ was more like a shouted chorus of swearing and calling the captain crazy, even after he said that he had several other factions ready to come with them and back them up.

"We'll never survive!" shouted someone from the mass of Ravagers gathered in the mess hall for the announcement. "The Kree'll tear us apart!"

"They won't," Stakar snapped. "This particular camp's already been raided by the Xandarians. They've taken a beating and they're cut off from resupply. There are probably only a handful left and not a one of them's gonna be able to take us down. The tech they'll have, though, it's valuable. We get half what I think we do and we'll be dining on fresh food for months. No ration packs. We'll be able to buy several more M-Ships and get some of you out on solos. If we get everything I think we will, then we're going to be able to take a nice long vacation."

"And if you're wrong, we die," came another voice, high and irritated. Kraglin was a little weirded out by some of the female Ravagers. They weren't like the women on the colony; they were rougher, bossier.  He wasn't sure if he liked it a lot or a little, but he was working through that. He'd thought he'd be able to speak his mind as a Ravager, but he was keeping his head down more than ever just trying to figure out how not to offend anyone. Offense tended to end in violence and rage, and he  _ really _ wasn't into it.

"I'm not wrong. It was a Nova contact that gave me the details. He gave me enough information that I am confident we can do this without any loss of life. Might take a little beating to a couple M-Ships, but it's going to be a quick in-and-out, no surprises."

There was a murmur around the mess and Kraglin shifted uncomfortably.  The others didn't like it and they had the experience to know whether this was a good idea or not.

"It's a slave camp," called Aleta, crossing her arms and leaning against her husband. "It's relatively undefended right now, and if we take it out, we not only deprive the Kree of their resources but we free some of their battle slaves. Makes it easier for us to raid when we need to if we don't have to worry about as many slaves on some of the Kree colonies.  Makes it easier for the Nova Corps to take down the numbers of Kree on the outer reaches so we can raid the colonies when we want without having to risk any repercussions.  Stakar likes that.  Me, I’d rather hunt Novas to the ends of the universe, but this is his job, not mine. My ship will be giving cover with a full complement of fighters in case it’s a trap."

The room relaxed a little here and there.  Aleta's fighter pilots were the best in the entire Ravager fleet. Kraglin had heard enough stories already to know that.  He’d been shown enough footage of what someone could do with a small, manoeuverable ship if they knew what they were doing to know that Aleta’s girls were better than some militaries. If she was taking her women down to do the defense, then odds were they'd be all right.

"Everyone will receive their orders on their wrist units for this raid. I don't want anyone to ignore an order. Everyone will be where they're needed, on time and there will be no excuses. Is that clear?" Stakar called.

There was a cheer and the Ravagers seemed united in their glee as they committed themselves to the job, dropping previous objections. Kraglin sighed and stood from his seat, ready to head back down to the hangar. He was starting to get the idea that there was  _ never _ going to be an end to the soot on the walls of the hangar, because Stakar was clearly mocking him. A battle like this would mean damaged engines, which would mean more soot, which would mean Kraglin was going to be stuck scrubbing even  _ longer _ . He was being punished for something and he wasn't sure what, but he still didn't dare complain. He shoved his dishes down the chute by the door and headed down the hallway.

Then, something happened that had never happened before in the decacycle he'd been on the ship. His wrist unit beeped and a set of new orders came up. He stared at the wrist unit, reading over his orders two, three, four times—

He was part of a raiding party. He'd be going down to the planet's surface on an M-Ship to help clear the camp and carry cargo back into the holds. He was being called out for the hard work, the back-breaking labour aspect, but  _ he was still being called out _ . He was going to be on his first raid!

He was pretty sure he was actually being sent out because he was expendable, because no one would miss him if this all went wrong and he died. The knowledge didn't puncture the bubble of elation in his chest. He was being given a real job for the first time in his new life as a Ravager. He was going to be a real Ravager, and maybe he'd even earn the right to put the flame patch on his shoulder and not just the leathers he put on every day like a uniform.

He read his orders over again, then again, considering every aspect of them from the timing all the way through to the ship he'd be riding down on.  Two day-cycles before he'd be climbing onto Martinex's M-Ship. Flying with the first mate sounded pretty good to him, like maybe he'd been picked on purpose and not just for fun. He wasn't sure, though. Maybe it meant he  _ wasn't _ trusted and Stakar wanted someone who really knew what they were doing to keep an eye on him. Either way, it would get him off the ship and let him do something other than scrub walls, and that?   _ That _ was worth it. He hadn't joined the Ravagers to scrub walls forever.

  
  


The planet was pock-marked with deep, scorched gullies left by the Nova Corps raids. The atmosphere was filled with so much dust and soot that a lot of the species with more delicate lungs were actually rotated out of their orders regardless of the strength they might possess. Being listed in the ship's computer as a 'hybrid of unknown origin', Kraglin found himself hauled down to the med-bay to breathe into a tube and try out a few different gasses to make sure he wouldn't collapse.

He wouldn't. Whatever he was, he was apparently no less durable and no less immune to a bunch of different toxins than he'd been before he was born. He could breathe air with a high particulate matter, even air with an abnormally high level of chlorine if he needed to. It was interesting, and Kraglin noted that he should probably compare it against the short list of raiders who'd attacked his mother's colony the standard cycle before he'd been born. He wasn't sure how long gestation should have been, given he was a hybrid, and he had a certain level of curiosity about the nature of his father's species.

Sometimes he wanted to do things, violent things, and he wasn't sure if it was some buried instinct passed down from his father or if he was just going insane. Some days, he was pretty sure it was better not to know.  Other days, he was pretty sure he  _ needed _ to know. Either way, it was something he could look up after the raid. Something he could think on and mull over later.  

He wasn't afraid of the dirty atmosphere, was the point. He wasn't afraid it would kill him, wasn't even afraid it would injure him. He was much more afraid of the Kree. He'd seen the footage of colonies destroyed by them. He’d seen the bodies they left in their wake: so many dead, so many more mutilated to the point that they'd be better off dead.  Kraglin hadn't actually understood, until they were almost at the planet's surface, that being part of Martinex's team meant that he was effectively just cannon fodder. They were the second ship down.

He didn't want to be cannon fodder, so he checked his blaster compulsively as the ship shuddered to a stop on the planet's surface.  He wanted to kill some Kree, make a name for himself, survive. If he didn't kill them, they'd kill him. He was  _ not _ big on the idea of dying before he'd had a chance to do anything other than scrub until his fingers bled.

The hatch opened and he took his place towards the back of the contingent of Ravagers. He pointed his blaster at the ground, as he'd been told to always do if there were any possibility of hitting a fellow Ravager in the back—short of it being absolutely necessary to shoot straight through someone to save more people than what he'd kill. Turned out Ravagers were a practical sort of people when it came to that kind of thing. Don't kill your fellow Ravager. Unless you had to. Then make it a good death and make sure it was worth it so they could see the colours.

The planet was oddly silent. That was the first thing he'd noticed. It had been covered in lush plant life at one time. It had been a place that hadn't needed any atmoforming to make it liveable. Now, a thick coating of dust covered everything. There were none of the sounds that Kraglin had always assumed from nature documentaries would be in a forest and the plants were drooping.  They looked dry and brittle. The trees had lost their leaves and needles. Everything looked dead.

"I don't like this," Martinex said into his wristcomm.

"Quiet is good. Keep moving," came Stakar's voice. His M-Ship wasn't far; they'd be catching up to him and then their forces would enter the camp. Aleta's fighters had shown no signs of surface-to-air capabilities so they'd been able to fly in close.  

Sticks crunched under their boots and they kept their weapons pointed down but ready.  From the stories Kraglin had heard on the colony, he'd assumed a Ravager raiding party would be loud and rowdy. He'd expected shoving and shouting, running and showing off. There was none of that. It was like the dying planet was sucking something out of their souls as they stepped forward with dbated breath.

They walked for what seemed like a long time to Kraglin, who had never seen so many trees before in his life. They all looked exactly the same. He didn't dare ask, but he thought it was possible they were lost, and that they were walking in circles. They would die like the trees and his heart pounded in his ears as he tried to hear any signs of the Kree that they all knew had to be there.

The camp was in a clearing and they met up with Stakar at its edge. He held up a fist, crouching at the forest's edge and watching the camp. Everyone lined up, watching from the underbrush, looking for any signs of the Kree moving. There were several ships, but they looked damaged, as if they weren't capable of flight.  A piece of tattered fabric flapped in the soft, dry wind from the side of a small building built low to the ground.  There was no other movement. There were no signs of life.

"Stakar, where are they?" Martinex asked, his eyes narrowed with suspicion not at the captain but at the camp.  Kree were tricky bastards and violent as fuck.

"I don't know... The Nova report said they had six ships, though. I only count five."

"You think they abandoned camp?" 

"I'm not sure." Stakar looked along the row of Ravagers, peering at each in turn.  "Obfonteri," he said, at last.

"Yessir?" Kraglin had a bad feeling about being singled out.  

"Go into the clearing. We'll cover you."

Cannon fodder truly, then.  He was being sent to test the waters, see if the first sign of movement got shot from Kree hiding somewhere they couldn't see. "Sir?"

"Go."

Kraglin swallowed and stood up all the way.  No one took his head off and he hoped that meant he wasn't going to die. He put one boot in front of the other, moving slowly and cautiously, blaster raised to the ready as he stepped, stepped, stepped. He'd never been so terrified in his life, never been so assured he was going to die. He'd never been so angry at anyone in his life as he was at Stakar, sending him to be murdered.

Still he walked. Step. Step. Step.  A stick snapped and he jumped in the air, ready to shoot before realizing he'd stepped on it himself. He hoped he imagined the snicker from behind him: hoped he hadn't actually heard it because if he had, then he was  _ never _ going to hear the end of it. If he even survived. Step. Step. Step. He started to speed up. There was no movement, no sound, nothing to alert him to the presence of any living being other than the raiding party.  

He walked right up to the building. It had no windows, he noted, as he went around it, looking for signs of anyone hiding. There was no blaster fire showing that he'd flushed someone out. He was starting to think the camp really was abandoned. 

He didn't know enough about the Kree vessels to be able to even get into them, let alone determine if they were empty, but he did know how a basic door worked. The door at one end of the building had no visible means of security so, with a quick glance at where the other Ravagers were hiding, he prodded it open. It opened into a room, dark as pitch and smelling like something he'd never actually encountered before, something that set dread into his stomach and made him want to vomit.  

Kraglin had always had better than average night vision, though not like some species who lived on the dark sides of planets or underground. The door closed behind him when he stepped in.  Even when he stood stock still for a moment to let his eyes adjust, he could see nothing in the velvet darkness. He hit his wristcomm for a little light, the glow from the screen just enough to let his eyes pick up cages along the sides of the building. In many of the cages, there were huddled figures. They didn't seem to be moving.

He swallowed and walked over to the nearest occupied cage. He carefully, cautiously lowered his wrist comm to see what was in there—and had to clamp his jaws together to keep from screaming.  Maggots lurched a wriggling, horrifying dance in the socket where an eye ought to have been. Kraglin took a reflexive step backwards, saliva flooding his mouth and bile rising up his throat.

His wrist comm chirped. "Report."

He swallowed hard, several times in quick succession. He opened his mouth only to find his second row of teeth getting in the way, refusing to retract as adrenaline flooded his system. "They're dead," he said, struggling to make the words understandable.

"Dead?"

"Yeah. Bodies." He nicked his tongue on his teeth as he spoke and he clamped his mouth shut again to avoid crying out and embarrassing himself. He was a Ravager.  Sometimes, Ravagers dealt in dead things, dealt with death. Sometimes, Ravagers just had to handle themselves and deal with the fact that there were bodies what needed robbing.  

His wrist comm was silent, Stakar not speaking again, not responding. Everything was as silent as the rest of the planet and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the maggots pulsating in the shadows, the only movement, the only thing alive other than him. Without Stakar's voice, for all he knew the other Ravagers were dead, and it was just him and the maggots. Everyone, everything else could be dead, as dead as the first body he'd ever seen that wasn't all niced up for cremation. He'd been shielded enough from that, at least.

He breathed shallowly through his mouth and looked more closely at the face in the cage. Whatever the being had once been, its skin was mottled and greyed enough that he couldn't tell in the limited light what colour it might be. Enough of the facial features had been eaten away by the maggots or were hidden under them, that he couldn't tell if there were any distinguishing shapes or marks that might tell him what this being was. It was just dead. Just meat, just rotting. It was the end, the last. It was final.  It was over.

The door was shut, he knew that. Opening it would increase the light. There was no increase in light. There was, however, a noise behind him and he couldn't help it. He couldn't. It was only a little rustle, but he whirled around, blaster firing before he could think, and he screamed.

  
  


Stakar was livid with him.  He knew that better than he knew his own name and he was pretty sure it was good he did know it because if Stakar had his way, Kraglin was going to be completely erased from all the records in the galaxy.  

The blaster fire hadn't hit anyone. That was the most important thing he had to remember, even in the face of a much larger, enraged man who shoved him against a wall and shouted in his face.  It hadn't alerted the Kree, because they weren't in the damn camp. They'd left.  

What it had done, other than terrify the Ravagers, was wake the handful of battle slaves who hadn't yet succumbed to the dehydration that had set in after they'd been abandoned in tiny cages. It hadn't been the light that had done it, oh no. It couldn't have been.  None of them could see a damn thing with the thick leather hoods on over their heads. It had been the sound. They'd reared up, slamming themselves against the sides of their cages and shrieking, shrieking wordlessly as if just shouting loudly enough could save them all.

It was horrifying. None of them seemed able to speak or even to make sounds that the translator implanted in Kraglin's brain since he had started speaking could make sense of.  They just screamed, their hoarse voices rising in a cacophony of sound that went through Kraglin's skin and into his soul like broken glass. They were the screams of the damned, the broken, the shattered and when Stakar had come in, he'd found a light switch and walked down the line of the cages as soon as he'd dropped Kraglin from the wall.  

Kraglin had been huddled on the floor trying not to either vomit or hyperventilate as the voices rose and fell in a gasping symphony that was going to haunt him for years. He'd been unable to get those second teeth put away, unable to bring himself back down under control, and he'd watched Stakar peer into each cage in turn.

Some cages, he'd placed a hand on for a moment, bowed his head and stilled for a matter of perhaps five, ten seconds. Some he'd peered into and then carefully levelled his blaster, lips moving silently, and fired a shot right into the skull of whoever or whatever was in the cage. The rest, numbering only four, he'd pulled out a marker and drawn a sigil on their cages before raising his wristcomm to his mouth and muttering instructions.

Kraglin had heard the Ravager ships land in the clearing. He'd breathed through it as his understanding of that awful, strange smell finally coalesced in his brain--death, death, death--and then he'd watched as Ravagers with stretchers carefully pulled the weak, scarcely moving, wailing bodies from the cages onto clean white sheets. All but one of the figures were masked by hoods that kept them from seeing anything around them.A quick attempt by one of the Ravagers to use his knife to remove the hood had resulted in Stakar stepping in.

"Don't," he commanded. "You'll take their skin off. It'll have to be soaked off with an antiseptic. Those masks haven't been taken off in days and I don't want to blind the poor bastards." Then he'd turned on his heel and approached Kraglin.

Kraglin looked up, cringing, sure he'd be cast out, tossed off the ship, and left behind on this dead planet with all its horrors.  Stakar knelt next to him and placed a hand on his cheek, pulling his face up to look him in the eyes.  

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice quiet and filled with regret. "You're just a kid...  I shouldn't have brought you. You shouldn't have seen this."

"I can handle it," Kraglin slurred out around a mouth filled with too many teeth and the desire to lash out at everything around him,  mouth first. He held himself rigid to keep the urge under control.

"You're a kid," Stakar said. "There's a reason we don't deal in kids." He sighed and put a hand in Kraglin's armpit, started dragging him to his feet.  

"’M not," Kraglin responded, watching as the stretchers started heading out. He couldn't get his body to cooperate enough to help get to his feet.

"I want you to go with that last stretcher.  You're going to follow that person back to med-bay. You're going to stay with him, make sure he's well taken care of. When Doc's done treating him, and you  _ ask _ before you do this, you're going to get a cloth and wash his hands, face and feet, then you're going to wait for me. You got that?"

"It's not hard," Kraglin said.

"Good. You get those teeth put away and I might even believe you, kid. You did all right here."

"But you said--"

"I know what I said. You ain't ready to see this kinda thing and I shouldn't have brought you. I knew we'd be seeing battle slaves. I knew what that could mean. This was my mistake."

Kraglin worked his jaw a few times, swaying in Stakar's grasp. He closed his eyes, then breathed through his mouth and managed to get his teeth retracted enough he didn't think he'd make himself bleed if he tried to talk a little more. "I'm not a coward." He paused, breathed through his mouth again. "Why'd you kill the rest of 'em?"

"They were gonna die anyway, and there wasn't anything any of us could do about it.  I gave them the mercy of a future without pain and a safe journey into the afterlife."

"Oh."

Stakar let go just enough to force Kraglin to take his own weight. "Yeah. I've seen enough of this. I know what it looks like.  You see this, you  _ always _ call. Call me or call Aleta or call Martinex, you hear?"

Kraglin nodded, still swaying a little but finding his balance.  

"Now go. I don't want you to do anything but look after that one. He's gonna have a hard time of it and Doc's gonna need help in the med-bay." Stakar gave him a little push and Kraglin stumbled, but didn't fall.  

One boot in front of the other, one step at a time, Kraglin followed the dusty-skinned being on the stretcher into the belly of an M-Ship. He sank down next to the stretcher, breathing through his mouth against the stink of death that still clung to the Kree's victims.  

One of the stretcher-supervisors looked him over. "You got this?"

Kraglin nodded. "Sure. Stakar said I was supposed to look after him."

"All right. I'm gonna help with loading the other ships. You help Sunny get him to Med-Bay?"

"Yeah. I got it," Kraglin said. He hoped he did. He hoped he wouldn't vomit all over the poor wrecked being on the stretcher. Still, he was a Ravager. Ravagers were practical beings. It didn't make sense for three people to be moving a single stretcher together. It made far more sense for the other stretcher bearer to take his place on the raiding party if he was being replaced like that.

"Okay. I'll make sure you get your part of the take, whatever it is I grab."

"Sure," Kraglin responded, watching as the stretcher-supervisor took off out the hold.

"You know anything about anything medical?" the remaining stretcher-supervisor--Sunny, Kraglin assumed--asked him as she looked up from taking the battle slave's pulse.

"I know how to disinfect and bandage a wound?" Kraglin answered, his tone questioning.

"Protect us all from the idiocy of children," Sunny sighed. "All right. I ain't never seen a being like him. He's blue, but he ain't Kree or Luphomoid. That thing on the top of his head, that's enough to tell me he ain't even  _ close _ . Dunno what he is, but I can tell you that thing there's seen better days.  I'm gonna give you a special cleanser and you're gonna pour it over that thing. Carefully. It's gonna take a whole damn bunch of the rotted flesh, but if you do it real slow and careful, it'll mean Doc can get a better look at what he can save."

"Save?"

"Yeah. Infected as that thing is, pretty sure once Doc talks to Stakar, this guy's gonna be looking at an amputation."

Kraglin swallowed. "But that's just like, a little bit of skin, right?"

Sunny handed Kraglin the cleanser and took a bottle for herself to start on some wounds around the battle slave's wrists where leather straps tied them together. "Dunno. I haven't seen his species before. Doc'll know, but some species, things like that let them hear and shit so it's hard to say.  I'm not sure it'll matter anyway."

"Why not?" Kraglin straightened his spine and uncapped the bottle.

"Stakar's got a pretty good idea of whether it'll be live or die, but he tends to be a little too hopeful sometimes. We come across shit like this and he doesn't like to just euthanize everyone.  He likes to give a handful a chance if he thinks he can get away with it.  But most of the time, we lose all of them.  We've raided a few pleasure slave camps, that kind of thing. Never from the Kree, but these are about the worst I've ever seen.  These four are going to die, just like the rest.  Probably none of them will ever wake up once Doc puts 'em under."

Kraglin carefully poured the liquid over the misshapen piece of flesh peeking out from a slit in the hood that covered the being's face.  Some of the skin seemed to melt away almost instantly, exposing spines made of some kind of fine bone or cartilage.  He gagged and splashed the cleanser as the ship lurched into the sky.

"Hey, don't barf on the patient," Sunny said sharply, turning and pushing Kraglin a half step backwards.

"I wasn't gonna!"

"You looked like you were damn close."

"Well... look."

Sunny looked down and shrugged. "Yeah, that happens sometimes. The cleanser dissolves most types of dead tissue. Doc'll be able to see what's left. Poor thing might end up deaf or blind if he survives. Probably never known anything but pain. It's not like he'll be a person. He'll just be a shell."

"But there was something before, wasn't there? He'll have friends, family maybe, somewhere? Someone looking for him?"

Sunny laughed. "Oh honey, you been living in Xandarian space, haven't you? Kree don't take adult slaves. They take babies. They wait until they're just starting to toddle, then swoop in and steal them. He won't remember his family, if they're even alive.  Best case scenario for his parents is that they sold him. Worst case, they refused and the Kree murdered them all and stole their young. He's probably not from a spacefaring race, either. Kree prefer primitives."

Kraglin felt a knot of ice form in his belly and he tore his eyes away from Sunny, instead choosing to pour more of the cleanser over the being's flesh. "That ain't right."

"No, but it's war. That's all the Kree are good at, all they want. One war after another after another."  

"I think I hate them."

"Yeah, honey, we all do." She carefully cleaned the being's wrists. "He might get to keep his hands."

"If he survives."

"Yeah. It'll be a mercy if he doesn't wake up."


	3. Chapter 3

Aleta and Stakar were arguing just around the corner from where Kraglin sat in the hallway. He hadn't dared leave med-bay, even when he'd been sent out so Doc had more room to work. He'd been sitting there for what felt like hours, trying to remember what he'd had for breakfast. It wasn’t a big deal. His stomach wasn’t growling or anything and he didn’t feel particularly hungry. The thing was, he couldn't remember breakfast. It felt like years had passed since he'd prepared to go down on the M-Ship. He felt like a different person.

"I can't believe you took a kid," Aleta hissed, her voice carrying as it always did. She was a woman with a huge presence and most of that presence came from her ability to project. 

"He's almost of age, and he had a point."

"You figured out what his daddy was yet?"

"Pretty sure he's half Hraxlian, given Doc's tests."

Aleta made a sound of frustration. "Then Xandarian age of majority or no, he's not fully grown yet. Bad enough you hired him, what were you thinking taking him down onto the planet? And sending him in ahead of the others?"

"I'd forgotten the kid's name when I was pulling crew for the mission. I needed juniors to make foot soldiers and he ended up on it. And when I saw him down there, I only singled him out because I thought he'd run.  I didn’t think he’d actually do it.  He was supposed to take off back for the M-Ships and I was going to deal with him later." 

"You're a moron."

"I'd appreciate it if you said that a little quieter where my crew might hear me."

"You're a moron," Aleta said, more quietly. "You thought he'd run? The kid's made himself scarce since you brought him on board, hasn't done anything to stir up trouble. You gave him a job that can't be done, and I don't think he's complained even once."

Kraglin was positive they were talking about him and he was equally positive that he wasn't meant to hear this. He was pretty sure no one was and that if he'd been moving, if there'd been footsteps, the two of them would have found another area to argue. Still, it was useful information. Stakar knew what he was, even if he'd apparently decided not to tell him. He'd have to look up Hraxlians, but he was pretty sure he recognized the name from the raids. They were a species he'd almost discounted because they'd come before he'd thought his mother would have been pregnant with him.

"I know. I made a mistake. I'm not going to punish him for it, so you can just shut up already while I deal with it."

"What do you plan to do with him? Are you going to put him back on scrubbing the walls and hope he doesn't break down? Drop him off on some Xandarian colony and let him make his way home?"

"Aleta, I know you think I broke the code--"

"You did."

"Barely."

"He's got another two years before he'll hit full height if you're right about what he is, and even if you go by Xandarian majority, he isn't there yet."

"And there's nowhere else for him to go. I can't just dump him."

"You should. You should toss him off your ship next time you make port and tell him to stay lost. If anyone else finds out... Could you imagine if  _ Charlie _ found out?"

"I can't do that. You and I both know it. It would  _ not _ be right."

"Not right was taking him. You lied. You lied so you could break the damn code."

"I lied so he could have a chance to prove himself, and I'm going to give him that chance."

"How? You're not taking him off-ship anymore, are you? Because if you put him in that kind of danger again before he reaches at least Xandarian majority, I'm not going to be able to keep your secret. It doesn't matter how much I love you, I'm not going to lie to everyone else for you if you're not going to make this right."

"Someone's going to have to be in charge of teaching the Kree's victims how to function."

"And you think a child is the right choice for that?"

"I think that he's still young enough that he won't talk down to them. He's not going to fuck up by treating them like kids. He's also not old enough to seem like he's some kind of authority. The best chance those poor bastards have for re-integrating and surviving is to learn how to function on my ship. There's not going to be anything else out there for them, is there?"

"There's not anything here for them either. And they _ will _ eat him alive."

"They're going to be weak for ages. They're in terrible shape and I'm not even sure they're going to survive. No one is. We already lost one of them and Doc wants to talk amputations with me. They were in stress positions for at least a week without food or water, all of them wounded. I wish I could kill the assholes who did that."

"Stakar, I know how you feel about this kind of thing, but weak or no, they can kill him. He's just a kid."

"It might be a moot point. We might lose them all."

"And if we don't, you're putting him in danger."

"I'm giving him a chance to prove himself. I don't want him to think I'm furious with him. I don't want him to think he fucked up entirely."

"He did. If there had been Kree, he'd have got you all killed."

"If there'd been Kree, I would have been the one responsible for our deaths. I shouldn't have sent him in, but seeing as I did, it's up to me to give him another chance. If he manages to stick out this job until he reaches Xandarian majority, he'll have earned his flames and I'll pass off the job to someone else.

"Fine. But I want someone checking in with him regularly. I don't want him to get hurt. I swear, if he gets killed, I  _ will _ talk to Charlie and don't think I won't get Mainframe in on it. You'll stand before the council."

"I understand. If that's what you feel you have to do, then I will stand before them and explain myself. I will accept their judgement."

"One condition on the whole thing, though, Stakar. You'll be the kid's contact. You're going to check in and you'll keep a hand in. You're not going to just dump a damaged, crippled being on a child and walk away, are we clear?"

"I'll be hands-on," he assured her. "And, if none of the victims make it, then I'll find something else. I'm not going to screw this kid over. The whole point of taking him was not to screw him over."

"You're only upset I caught you."

"You didn't catch me. I  _ told _ you."

"Fine. Stakar, go talk to Doc and see what's going to happen next for those poor bastards. I'm going to get my girls and go find something to shoot down. They were disappointed and I can't ride them hard and put them away wet. They need satisfaction and there's a place I know a few jumps away."

"All right. I'll see you soon?"

"Definitely. I'm going to be checking on you. One toe out of line and so help me--"

"I've got it." There was a silence and Kraglin was pretty sure Stakar was making out with his wife, then boots stomped around the corner. Stakar drew up short when he spotted Kraglin sitting on the floor. "You're still here?"

"You told me to wait for Doc to be done. Well, don't think he's done, so I gotta wait, right?"

Stakar looked him over, then nodded. "On your feet. We're going to talk to Doc together."

Kraglin got up, keeping his muscles stiff as he stood so he wouldn't tremble. The day was really getting to him and he didn't like it. He was a Ravager now. He needed to stop being such a baby. "I don't know much about this stuff, so I don't know that I can be any real help, Captain."

"You're assigned to recovery, so you need to hear what Doc has to say. That's the only way you're going to learn what they'll need."

"Two of them didn't make it onto the ship," Kraglin said, quietly.

"I know. We'll give them a good funeral and bear witness to what was done to them. We'll carry it forward through the colours."

"Are you sure I'm qualified to be helping on recovery?" Kraglin wasn't sure what that would even take. He wasn't sure how much was left of people in the broken shells they'd brought back to the ship. He'd seen a few people before who'd been damaged, badly, by the raids on his colony. He'd seen them just stare into space without speaking. He'd been asked to read to them sometimes and he'd never been good at it, but it was the responsibility of every child in the colony to help look after those whose minds had gone from the pressures of the constant raids.

"No," Stakar said, bluntly. "I don't think you are at all. But I also don't think we need someone with specific qualifications. We need someone who can do what needs to be done, and I think you can handle it." He keyed open the door to med-bay and stepped in, effectively ending the conversation.

Kraglin knew that Stakar didn't really have that kind of confidence in him, but it felt nice to hear it all the same. He followed Stakar in and Doc turned from covering a still figure with a blanket. 

"We lost the third one. There was too much damage to too many vital organs. It was the dehydration. As soon as we started rehydrating her, organs started collapsing," Doc said quietly. 

Stakar stepped over to the bed and put his hand on the figure, muttering something Kraglin couldn't quite make out. He wasn't actually sure it was in a Core Language, which would mean his translator might not be picking it up. He stood awkwardly, waiting for Stakar to finish. 

As soon as Stakar raised his head, Doc spoke again. "The last one will probably survive if we operate immediately."

"That's something at least. What do you need to operate on?"

"The being needs a full removal of the fin and part of the skull bone to remove infected tissues. I'll have to replace part of the skull with bioplating to get rid of the infection, but it doesn't look to have crossed the meninges yet. If I move now, he has good odds."

"So why haven't you started?"

Doc blew out a breath. "He's Centaurian. Are you familiar with their species?"

Stakar shook his head.

"They're hunter-gatherers, according to the records.  Planetbound. The fin on the top of the head acts as a sort of bioscanner. It offers an empathic awareness of the surroundings, allows Centaurians to track the movement of anything biological that's nearby. Removing it will mean removing the sense."

"Do it," Stakar said quietly. He barely paused.

"How can you say that so easy?" Kraglin demanded, remembering what Sunny had said about blinding or deafening the victims.

"Because survival is more important than a sense. He can learn to live without it. But he'll be alive. Where there's life, kid, there's hope. He dies from the infection hitting his brain, then what did we accomplish on that planet?"

"A profit?" Kraglin ventured.

"On the backs of living beings who deserved better. We steal from everyone, but not each other. We don't deal in kids. We don't deal in slaves. If we can't save any of them, if we don't give it our best, we're no better than the Kree. We'll be profiting from slaves and that puts us on the same level as the slavers."

"Shouldn't he have a say in it, though?"

"No," Stakar said. "He shouldn't. Because he can't. He doesn't have the ability to think this through. He's not capable of consent. I'm his captain until he chooses to leave. That means that this is my responsibility. I take the burden of making this choice for him, and I say that Doc takes his fin."

"He's not going to thank you for that," Doc said quietly. "But I do think it's the right choice. You two leave and I'll look after it."

"When he's through surgery, call Obfonteri. He's going to be in charge of security and making sure that the slave's needs are met," Stakar said. "He might as well start now and take some of the burden off you."

Doc nodded. "It's going to take hours. He might as well get some sleep, then. The slave isn't going to wake up until several hours after surgery, at best."

"But you think he'll wake up?"

"It will take time, but yes, if he makes it through surgery, then he'll likely wake up."

"Good. Obfonteri, get to your bunk. I want you rested and ready to help the moment Doc calls you."

"Yessir," Kraglin said. He was a little uncertain about his place and his future with the Ravagers. Stakar had made the decision seem so simple. He hadn't paused, hadn't thought twice. He'd just chosen to alter someone's body, someone's ability to perceive the world, without hesitation.

He did as he was told. He laid on his bunk. He didn't sleep.

Instead, he pulled up the entry on Hraxlians from the interstellar encyclopaedia. If Stakar thought that was what Kraglin was, then it seemed safe to assume he should have some idea of what that meant. It seemed more and more certain that he was at least part Hraxlian.

The entry was sparse. They were a race known to the Xandarians and there was a medical entry, but the cultural information was limited. The population had outgrown the planet five hundred years before and their planet was built on top of itself many layers deep. As a result, younger individuals tended to get onto ships and go raiding. They were vicious fighters, prone to tearing out throats and spines with nothing but their deadly sharp teeth. They preferred close combat to distance fighting. They were smart, fast and had no apparent cultural rituals in regards to death. They didn't appear to have a cultural taboo about cannibalism, which was noted as particularly interesting and referenced back to the medical article which stated that they didn't appear to suffer from any kind of prion disease or analogue when they did eat one another.

In other words, they were monsters, just like he'd always suspected he might be.

  
  


Kraglin was carefully washing the Centaurian's arms with a soft, damp cloth when he finally awoke. At least, Kraglin thought the Centaurian was awake. He moved. Not a lot, just enough to make it clear that the movement had been directed rather than a twitch in his sleep. He moved his legs closer together, that was all, just a movement bringing him more tightly in on himself.

"Hi," Kraglin said quietly, withdrawing the cloth. It had been two day-cycles since the surgery and Doc had brought Stakar in to discuss options given that the Centaurian appeared to be in some kind of shock. He wasn't sure that the Centaurian was ever going to come out of it. 

He didn't respond. He didn't move further, so Kraglin wondered if perhaps he wasn't awake after all. It was possible, just barely, that the movement had been a sleep twitch, though he hadn't moved at all since he'd been put on the stretcher in the dark building. 

"Hey, Doc?" Kraglin called. 

"Yeah?"

"I think he's awake."

Doc got to his feet and headed over, waving Kraglin out of the way so he could check his patient. He started with a few brisk touches to the Centaurian's feet, watching for a twitch. Kraglin had watched this a few times as Doc tested to see how deeply the Centaurian was asleep and this time there was the smallest flex of his when Doc tapped his foot with a needle.

"He's more awake than he was, but I think he's in a lighter sleep, not actually awake," Doc said.

"Are you sure?"

"No. I've never treated a Centaurian and I'm going by galactic standard baselines for responsiveness. He's responding slightly to pain but he's not what I'd call responsive."

Kraglin nodded, some of the excitement ebbing away. He'd thought they were finally going to get somewhere, that maybe the Centaurian would start doing something that would mean doing more than just cleaning him. Doc had said they were lucky, in a way. The Centaurian hadn't been fed, which meant that he wasn't passing all the waste he normally would. Kraglin was incredibly glad.

Doc headed back to his desk and Kraglin picked up his cloth again. He carefully wiped over the raw flesh on the Centaurian's wrists. Leather bands had been kept on his wrists and ankles so long that even removing them gently, soaking them away almost, they had left open, weeping sores. Kraglin hoped that it didn't sting too much when he washed them.

"Hey, do the Kree name their slaves?" Kraglin asked.

"No, they only take people who already have names. They got some kind of bullshit beliefs about enslaving a person and leaving them their name is like holding their soul or something. It's shit."

"So what's his name? Do we know?"

Doc tapped his screen a few times. "He's probably Yondu Udonta, but we won't know for sure until he wakes up. I have no idea if I’m saying the name right."

Kraglin nodded. "Then he'll be able to tell us. But you're pretty sure?"

"Unless they had another Centaurian there, it's got to be him."

Kraglin rubbed his cloth higher up the arm and watched Yondu Udonta's face. "Do we know anything else about him, though?"

"We have his kill record and his medical records, but that's all. The Kree don't care about anything else."

"That's awful. He's a  _ person _ ."

"Not to them. They took him when he was little more than an infant. Since then, he hasn't so much as seen light when it wasn't their choice. He won't even know how to make his own decisions."

"Of course he will. Anyone does." Kraglin glanced over at Doc to find him staring at him. "What?"

"Stakar says you're supposed to help him learn how to function on the ship. Do you have any idea how the Kree treat their battle slaves?"

Kraglin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I saw. I smelled it. They left them in cages and they abandoned them to die."

"For the Kree, that was mercy. The mask this one was wearing when he came in, they put them on the battle slaves most likely to kill Kree. In the case of the Centaurian, he'll have been very valuable to them, but also a danger. Centaurians bond to a special type of metal. They can control it through their crest. I'm not entirely clear on the mechanism, but they make weapons out of it and he'll have had one himself. He's used it to kill probably hundreds, maybe even thousands. I haven't examined his kill list yet. 

"They'll have put a mask on him and kept it there growing up. They don't let the ones like him even see light unless it's to kill for them. You're going to have to teach him to do everything from dressing himself all the way through to a few basic skills to let him find employment. He's practically a blank slate."

"I can handle it," Kraglin said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. If the Centaurian was effectively a child, well, Kraglin had some experience with children. It was just that neither he nor the children had ever enjoyed it. It had always been a matter of it being Kraglin's turn to help out with the junior classes. He had been grateful his mother had told him he was never allowed to volunteer for additional shifts. With this new project, however, he wished he'd spent more time with the little brats.

He carefully watched the Centaurian's face as he lifted his arm and cleaned his armpit. It wouldn't do to let new wounds open up and Doc said that pressure sores and raw skin borne of laying in one's own filth were a definite risk for the battle slave. His immune system was weakened by how badly he'd been injured and by the dehydration and starvation. It appeared that the camp had been low on food for some time before the Kree had completely abandoned it and the Centaurian's ribs stood out in stark relief.

There was a twitch in the Centaurian's eyebrows and Kraglin narrowed his eyes. "Yondudonta?" he said, uncertain if that was one word or two and if it was two, where the divisions were. Alien languages were strange and he'd never heard Centaurian, wasn't sure what it would sound like or how the vowels worked. He'd always been absolutely shit at languages.

Another twitch and a pressing together of his lips.

Kraglin reached for the bowl of ice cubes he'd been using to drop a little moisture into the Centaurian's mouth here and there. He'd been worried that the Centaurian was uncomfortable. His lips were so dry they were cracked in places and it seemed cruel not to give his mouth a little relief, even if he were unconscious. He'd asked Doc so many times that Doc had got him a bowl of ice and let him rub the ice cubes onto the Centaurian's lips. He pressed an ice cube to the Centaurian's mouth and, to his surprise, his mouth opened and he sucked in the ice cube.

"You're awake, then," Kraglin said, proud of himself for realizing when Doc hadn't. 

Still the Centaurian didn't open his eyes. He just crunched the ice rapidly, efficiently, and then opened his mouth again. It was demanding in a way that Kraglin hadn't expected and he gave the Centaurian another ice cube. It was demolished just as quickly as the first. The next few went down in rapid succession and Kraglin startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't give him too much," Doc warned. 

"But he needs it. They didn't give him food or water. We can't hold it back from him now!"

"His body's used to being dehydrated and starved right now. If we give him too much of anything at once, we'll throw him out of whack and he'll die. No more ice cubes now, but if he's still awake in an hour, I'll have someone bring something from the galley for him and you can try feeding him that."

"And then what?"

"We repeat. It's going to be at least a week before he can try a full meal, even a small one. So do as you’re told. No more than five ice cubes and then what I give you to feed him in an hour."

"What do we do until then?"

"Finish his bath. Talk to him. I'm going to have to check his translator anyway. He has one, but the Kree tend to limit them. I couldn't figure out which languages his can do until he was conscious."

Kraglin frowned and looked from Doc to the Centaurian. "So he might not understand me?"

"Try Andromeda Galactic Standard rather than Xandarian. He'll have a couple languages but Xandarian isn't likely to be one of them."

"My Standard is pretty awful."

"Just try. I'm going to run some tests." 

Kraglin sighed. It was like being in school again, where he'd constantly disappointed his mother by having below average performance in his Standard classes. His mouth just hadn't wanted to form the syllables, the nubs where his second set of teeth sat constantly getting in the way. "Is your name Yondudonta?" he asked clumsily, pretty sure he'd dropped the alveolar sounds entirely.

The Centaurian didn't move for a moment and Kraglin wondered if perhaps he wasn't capable of speech. "Udonta," he said, his voice rough, as though something had clawed the inside of his throat. "Am I giving a damage report?"

Kraglin frowned and wracked his mind for how to ask what he wanted in Standard. "Does talk hurt?" On one hand, he thought it might be useful to hear from the Centaurian--from Udonta--where he was injured. On the other, however, if it was hurting his throat, it would probably be better to wait until he felt better.

"Always," Udonta responded. "Is this a focused damage report or full?"

Kraglin considered it. If it always hurt Udonta to speak, then it probably wouldn't damage him further. Or so he thought. He wasn't really clear on it and Doc was busy focussing on a machine near Udonta's head. "Full?"

"Pain under hood, cuffs and anklets, likely open sores. Pain in feet and lower legs, muscular. Pain likely tendon-based in shoulders and upper arms." Udonta paused and Kraglin thought perhaps he was bracing himself. "Tahlei badly damaged. No connection to yaka detected." 

He still hadn't opened his eyes and his face was blank, unmoving. Were it not for the movement in his lips, Kraglin could easily believe that he was still unconscious and that he was listening to a recording. There was a hollowness, however, in his voice when he said the words Kraglin's translator couldn't process.

“Doc?”  Kraglin said quietly, switching back to Xandarian to make sure he was communicating clearly. He didn’t know how to respond to Udonta. He had an idea of what tahlei meant even though it didn’t translate correctly, and Kraglin felt sick thinking about it.

"Give it another moment and we'll have his chip working a little better. We'll be able to have a better conversation and explain his situation to him, then."

"Why don't you just do it now?"

"Because I'm trying to fix his chip without frying his brain. Now talk to him and leave me alone."

"I don't even know what to say."

"Figure it out."

Kraglin's vocabulary in Standard was pretty poor, built largely around words he could actually manage to say rather than words he knew. "My name is Kraglin Obfonteri," he said quietly.

"Xandarian?" Udonta asked, tensing.

"Yes," Kraglin responded. He didn't have the vocab to explain any better, didn't know how to put the words together to explain what he was. He wasn't sure Udonta would understand even if he did have the vocabulary to express it.

"I know nothing. I have seen nothing. I cannot speak on matters I know nothing of and I will die before I betray my masters," Udonta said, in the practised tones of a script he'd been taught through rote. 

Kraglin didn't have enough words in Standard to even begin to respond. He slipped into Xandarian, because fuck that. "I'm not going to ask you anything about them. I don't care what they're doing. I'm here to help you."

There was no response from Udonta other than the thinning of his lips as he pressed them together.

"You're on a spaceship, with Ravagers. We don't owe loyalty to anyone but our factions, our clans."

"He's not going to understand you yet," Doc said. "They did something strange to his chip. I'm having some trouble."

"I don't know how to say any of this in Standard."

"Well try. If you keep speaking Xandarian, his heartrate will keep increasing and he might die. I don't know if you understand this, kid, but he's terrified of you just because you're Xandarian."

"I don't know how speaking to him is going to help with that. I only really speak one language here." Kraglin had always thought that his universal translator would work no matter what he ran into. He'd never contemplated a situation like this.

"Well, you don't sound as Xandarian when you speak Standard. Your accent's weird. So say anything in it. I need to watch his processing to calibrate this damn thing, but Xandarian's sending his heartrate up."

Kraglin groaned. "Fine. Uh..." He tried to think of something, anything to say in Standard. "I would like to order a sandwich?" he tried. He remembered how to order food, at least. He'd always been told it was the most important thing to know in Standard. He was really second guessing what his teachers had known about anything in the universe.

Udonta's brow furrowed, but he didn't respond verbally. He just seemed confused.

"Two fruit juices and a milky ice, please." 

"Got food on the brain?" Doc asked.

"I remember food. I am hungry," Kraglin said, sticking to his clumsy Standard and hoping Doc got it.

"You're half an inch taller than when you came on board the ship. I've got no doubt you're hungry. You're a late bloomer, probably. I'll get someone to bring you a snack when they bring food for Mr. Udonta here."

"Udonta name one?" Kraglin asked.

"Is it his first name?"

"Yes."

"No, Yondu should be, if I understand the conventions right.  I’m not sure I do, though. He's probably never had anyone call him by it for any length of time, though. He probably wouldn't really recognize it."

"Oh. Udonta, hungry?"

"My condition is satisfactory," Udonta said quickly.

Kraglin wondered what that meant, that he was so quick to leap to assuring them that he was fine, that he didn't need food. He glanced at Doc, who appeared to be engrossed in the machine again. "You have no food," Kraglin said. "You want food?"

"Bribery will be unsuccessful. I am not going to betray my masters. I am loyal."

"Yes," Kraglin said. "You are good."

Udonta didn't seem to know how to respond to that. He frowned, but didn't move otherwise.

Kraglin scraped at the bottoms of the barrels of his vocabulary and remembered a children's song he'd learned years before, something about space pixies scattering the stars in the sky. He began singing it quietly, hoping that there was no way it could be anxiety-inducing. It was just a stupid children's story, it couldn't possibly invoke any visions of interrogation, as far as Kraglin could think.

It must have worked, because only a few lines in, Doc grunted irritably. "He's fallen asleep. I can't finish this with him asleep."

"Do you want me to wake him up?"

"No. It's in his best interests to get some rest," Doc said softly. "He's going to be coming in and out of sleep abruptly for days, probably, while his body recovers. It might even be longer, depending on how far gone his system really is and how resilient his species is.”

“So…  Do I have enough time to go to the mess and get food?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is taking longer to post than I thought but I assure you, it's coming. All of it.


	4. Chapter 4

On the fourth day, they actually managed to get Udonta to stay awake long enough to eat something rather than just sending the nutrient liquids into his veins at intervals. Doc placed the order with the mess as soon as Kraglin announced he was awake--Kraglin always knew before Doc did, no matter how good his instruments were--and by the time someone got there from the galley, Udonta was still awake. He hadn't opened his eyes yet, but Kraglin thought this was as good a time as any to convince him that it was time.

"There's food," Kraglin said, able to use Xandarian to communicate since Doc had sorted out the translator issue. Udonta still got jumpier about it than he did other languages, but Kraglin's brain hurt from trying to remember enough Standard to keep him calm. Surely a little Xandarian wouldn't hurt if Kraglin accompanied it with food. He might even be able to start making a positive association between Xandarian and food. Kraglin remembered something from his biology classes about that kind of reinforcing.

Udonta opened his mouth without turning his head or making any effort to sit up.

"Doc, are his wrists healed enough to feed himself?" Kraglin asked.

"Yes," Doc said slowly. 

"Open your eyes, Udonta. There's a bowl right next to you."

Udonta kept his mouth open another moment, expectantly, then closed it. Confusion was evident, but Kraglin wasn't sure what the hold up was.  He had to be hungry.  He hadn’t eaten in ages.

"The food's right here. If you open your eyes, you can get it."

Udonta tensed, then slowly, slowly, caution vibrating through his whole body, cracked open one eye. It was startlingly pink. For some reason, Kraglin had expected his eyes to be just as blue as the rest of him was.  The unexpected contrast made him look more alive, more sapient.

Kraglin picked up the bowl and raised it to Udonta's eye level. "Here."

Udonta wasn't just confused, he was unnerved, possibly even frightened. He stared at the bowl through one slitted eye as if it might attack him, then he opened his mouth slowly, exaggeratedly.

"Moving your hands won't do any extra damage. You can take it."

Udonta made no movement towards taking the bowl. 

"It isn't poisoned," Kraglin offered. He picked up the spoon and took a bite of the soup. "See? It's really good. Whoever made this is a pretty good cook. You're lucky. Sometimes the food here isn't the greatest. Depends who's on galley duty."

Udonta closed his mouth and eye and turned away, looking ashamed.

"Hey, no, you need to try eating some of this." Kraglin paused, replayed it all in his head. "If your wrists still hurt, I can feed you?" He lifted a spoonful of soup. "Open your mouth?"

Udonta did so and his body relaxed, his mouth wide open. Kraglin hadn't ever really fed someone older than a few months before, but he tried to avoid jabbing Udonta in the lips or teeth as he put the spoon into his mouth. Udonta closed his mouth around the spoon and sucked it greedily before letting Kraglin have it back. He did that with every mouthful, sucking the spoon carefully, keeping his eyes closed.

"You can look at me, you know," Kraglin said.

Udonta didn't respond. He just opened his mouth, waggling his tongue in a way that was almost comically insistent. He didn't stick it out, just moved it around his mouth demandingly.

"Fine," Kraglin said, and gave him another spoonful, then another. Udonta ate quickly and efficiently. There was no mess, none of the dribbling that Kraglin was accustomed to with children. He just ate silently. As soon as he had swallowed, he opened his mouth for more. He never opened his eyes, never made any movement to anticipate the spoon. He just waited.

Kraglin scraped up the last spoonful and stuck it in his mouth. "That's it," he said. "There's no more."

Udonta released the spoon after a contemplative sort of sucking motion and his mouth didn't open again. Kraglin couldn't tell if he was disappointed or not. It hadn't been much food. Kraglin was sure  _ he _ wouldn't have been satisfied.

"If everything goes alright, Doc will probably say you can have some more later. Did you like that? I can see about something different if you didn't."

Udonta made no movement or response. He hadn't spoken since he'd declared that he wouldn't betray his masters by giving over any information. His silence was unnerving and Kraglin didn't know how to get him to start communicating. He sighed. "All right. Well, if you do want something different, let me know. I'll get whatever you want, if Doc says it's safe. I'm not sure what your species eats and I’m not going to poison you.  I’ll catch hell if I do."

Still, the silence. Udonta's eyes didn't even twitch and Kraglin couldn't tell if he was going to stay awake much longer. It seemed like he might fall asleep again. He didn't seem to be able to stay awake long, but Doc said that was normal so Kraglin didn't see any reason to fight it.

The door to the med-bay swooshed open and Kraglin turned his head. Stakar was there, looking over Udonta and Kraglin. 

"Is he eating, then?" Stakar asked, nodding his head at the bowl. He came over to look over Kraglin's shoulder.

"Yeah. Got a little into him, at least."

"Good. I'm in the process of arranging quarters for both of you. He'll probably be out of here within a few days and he won't be able to sleep in the bunk rooms."

"I can, though. You don't need to make any special arrangements for me." Kraglin knew exactly how precarious his position was in the Ravager crew, how much was riding on this whole thing. He was pretty sure if he failed, it would reflect poorly on Stakar and Aleta would make sure Kraglin never got onto a Ravager vessel again.

"You'll be sharing a room with him, just off my quarters. I don't want any accidents happening and he's going to need constant supervision."

Kraglin shrugged. He didn't see the need for that.  Udonta was weak and sluggish, didn’t stay awake for long. "He doesn't do anything. I think we could leave him if we needed to."

"I don't. It's much safer if we keep an eye on him until he's more used to the day-to-day movements on the ship. Don't forget, he's a battle slave. The Kree used him to kill and we don't know what his responses might be to things that upset or frighten him."

Kraglin noticed an eye rolling around under Udonta's eyelid. "I'm pretty sure he's awake, sir. Maybe we shouldn't talk about him like this?"

"He looks pretty soundly asleep to me," Stakar said.

"He's not. I think the lights are a little bit harsh for his eyes. They’re so bright, he doesn't seem to like to keep them open for long."

"Udonta, are the lights too bright for you?" Stakar asked, harsh syllables tugging his voice into a different range. He'd obviously been told that Udonta didn't much care for Xandarian, because he slipped into Kree, which Kraglin hadn't known he spoke.

There was no hint of recognition on Udonta's face, no indication that he'd even heard. He just lay there, even the twitch under his eyelid gone as he lay in the bed, looking virtually identical to how he'd looked the first time Kraglin had seen his whole face. 

"It hurts him to talk," Kraglin said. 

"Does it now."

"That's what he said. The only time he did talk. He seems to think we're Xandarians here to question him about the Kree."

"It probably doesn't help that you're still speaking Xandarian to him, does it?"

Kraglin sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'm terrible at Standard. I can barely string a sentence together."

Stakar walked over to Doc's desk. He picked up one of the datapads and tapped it a few times before handing it to Kraglin. "Then get studying. You need to learn Standard. It's the best language for negotiation. I'd also recommend getting started on Ravager Creole. It doesn't translate right through the universals. You just have to memorize it. You won't be able to go on negotiations until such time as you've learned it."

"I'm really bad at languages, sir. I was even late at learning to speak Xandarian and I was surrounded by it."

Stakar rolled his eyes, looking more unimpressed than Kraglin had ever seen him look before.  "I seem to recall telling you not to whine. Didn't I tell you that whining wouldn't be tolerated?"

Kraglin winced. Yes, he had. That didn't mean Kraglin had to like it. "Okay, fine. I'll try."

"Good. I want you eating at least one meal in the galley so you can hear more Ravager Creole.  Most of the crew uses it pretty regularly. I'm not going to tolerate failure on this, are we clear?"

"What happens if I can't get the words out?"

"Then you work on it until you can get them close enough for someone to understand you. I don't care if you're good at it, but you need to be able to understand all of it and get your point across. So get studying." Stakar looked over the battle slave and then looked Kraglin over. Kraglin tapped irritably at the datapad. As soon as he did so, Stakar stalked out.

Kraglin hadn't thought that dedicating himself to a life of piracy would end up with him having to get good at languages. He was pretty sure he'd left home to avoid any more school. He wasn't supposed to get penalized for not being good at stuff. Still, Doc had said it was good for Udonta to hear language, to be surrounded by it, so Kraglin decided to get started. He began reading a passage in Standard aloud, struggling to get his mouth to fit around some of the syllables. He was pretty sure he was being punished.


	5. Chapter 5

It was almost two weeks before Doc declared Udonta fit to leave med-bay. He grumbled about it, wondered aloud if he was doing the right thing. He demanded to know how they could be sure that Udonta's quarters would be clean enough to prevent any infection of some of the still-open wounds on his body. He refused to be satisfied by the answers until he'd been taken to the room and shown everything.

Even then, Kraglin had been given a list of rules. He wasn't sure why they were so strict or why it was so important that he follow them, but Stakar had told him not to question the rules, just to follow them. He seemed to have a strong opinion on that matter. 

Rule one was that there were to be absolutely no weapons of any kind in the room. Kraglin wouldn't be allowed so much as a small knife, because, as Stakar said, he was more likely to get stabbed than be able to defend himself against a fully trained battle slave. There were to be no blasters, nothing sharp. No dishes were to be taken into the room. Datapads needed to be put into the locker when they weren't attended.

It reminded Kraglin of when a neighbour had been about to have a child and his mother had dragged him over to help clean their home of anything that wasn’t baby-friendly. It irritated him, because Udonta wasn't a child. Udonta was an adult and Kraglin was pretty sure at least part of what he was meant to be doing was teach him to be an adult. It didn’t seem like treating him like a baby would help.

The layout of the room gave rise to the second rule. It had two doors, one out to the hallway and one to Stakar's cabin. Kraglin couldn't imagine what the room had originally been intended for, but it seemed a strange arrangement. It unnerved him a little, especially because the door to Stakar's cabin was never to be locked. Stakar had repeated the order to him about ten times in different ways, as if trying to make sure Kraglin couldn't see a loophole in it. The door to the hallway could be locked and it was in fact encouraged that it be locked if Kraglin was sleeping or if they were in the room--not all Ravagers followed the code strictly--but under no circumstances was Kraglin to lock the door to Stakar's cabin.

Stakar had his reasons, of course. He was a good leader and he’d taken the time to explain them. He wanted to be able to get easy access to Kraglin if Udonta attacked him in the night or if something happened. It would be an easy signal to Stakar that something had gone wrong if Kraglin couldn't get a message out, if he was injured, because surely Udonta would close the door and lock it. Kraglin wasn't to tell Udonta the rule about locking the door between the two rooms.

It was a little dizzying and exhausting. Those weren't the only rules, even, but those were the ones that mattered most to Stakar, the ones that he insisted on walking Kraglin through in detail. Kraglin had protested that he wasn't a child, that he could remember a couple of simple rules, but Stakar had just eyed him, accused him of whining and walked him through it again. 

Udonta seemed still too exhausted to do much for himself. Kraglin had to feed him. It fell to Kraglin to dress him. Kraglin had to check with him if he needed to use a toilet because he wouldn't speak up to go on his own and Kraglin had to take him to the toilet itself because Udonta so rarely opened his eyes.

That last, Kraglin worried about, to the point that he cornered Doc just before he got Udonta ready for the trek back to their quarters. "Is there something wrong with his vision? Are his species low-light?" Kraglin demanded. He wouldn't mind sharing a room with a low-light species. A big part of him actually thought it would be preferable to the bright lights in some parts of the ship, where attention to find details mattered. 

"You saw the hood he had on, yes?"

Kraglin nodded. 

"He's probably worn it most of his life. Some of the scarring on the sides of his head tells me that much. I'm not sure he's used to using his vision outside of combat."

That was a startling idea, that someone could have vision and have it taken from them. Kraglin decided that it wouldn't matter.  He'd get Yondu convinced opening his eyes was a good idea. He wasn't going to let Udonta hide.

He tried to start by encouraging Udonta to open his eyes so he'd know where their quarters were once he'd been there a time or two, but the Centaurian steadfastly refused to open his eyes unless directly told to do so. Even then, he'd close them at the soonest opportunity. Kraglin took him by the hand and pulled him along, being careful not to let him hit any walls or anything. It was slow work, and frustrating and finally, Kraglin pulled him off to the side.

"Okay, you open your eyes," he said in irritated Standard. Reading aloud to Udonta was definitely improving his language skills but he still hated the way the words felt in his mouth.

Udonta's eyes snapped open and then he squinted against the light in the corridor. 

"Good. Now, you keep them open. Do not close them." It was a simple command, given harshly out of frustration, but Udonta seemed to respond and his eyes flickered between faint eyelashes that matched his eyelids almost perfectly. He glanced around, eyes darting and taking everything in. He seemed interested in his surroundings, something Kraglin hadn't really noticed before.

He was pretty sure there were things he hadn't noticed, though. He hadn't been able to stay constantly by Udonta's side. He'd had to leave to eat and Doc couldn't keep both eyes on Udonta at all times. There were other people to see to, Ravagers whose ongoing usefulness to the ship depended on Doc keeping them healthy.

Still, it wouldn't surprise him, given the obvious intelligence behind those eyes, if Udonta had been looking around med-bay when no one else was watching. Udonta wasn't stupid. Kraglin wasn't sure what kind of damage had been done to him, wasn't even sure if he could talk beyond giving a report on his physical condition and refusing to discuss the Kree with anyone, but he was sure that Udonta had a lot going on in his head. Kraglin just didn't know how to unlock it.

It was much easier to move down the halls with Udonta looking where he was going for himself. It wasn't that the corridors were terribly crowded or messy, really. It was just that they were part of a working vessel, not a pleasure one. There were always repairs going on. Different species ate on different schedules, depending on their needs, so there were always people headed for a food break.

There was always something happening in every hallway. The somethings seemed to add up quickly and Kraglin glanced to his left to check on Udonta only to find him gone. He whirled around--it wouldn't do to lose him on the ship so soon after moving him out of the med-bay--only to find him backed into an alcove, his eyes closed, breathing heavily. He'd pressed his wrists together in front of him and was rubbing them lightly against each other. Kraglin hurried over.

"Hey, no, don't do that," he said, before remembering to switch into Standard. "Stop. Your hands are hurt." He couldn't remember the word for wrists, but he took Udonta's right wrist carefully in his hand as he spoke, squeezing lightly. He hoped that doing so would be a universal of comfort even for Centaurians. The wounds on his wrists were mostly healed but the skin was still tender and there was some scabbing. Rubbing at them wasn't going to do Udonta any favours.

Udonta seemed to relax instantly and a few breaths later, he seemed to have himself back under control, his breathing relaxed back to his normal, calm pace.

"Do you need Doc?" Kraglin asked.

Udonta didn't respond and Kraglin hissed out in frustration. It seemed to be that no response meant there was nothing Udonta wanted. His responses were never verbal, just responses to what he was told he needed to do. Questions rarely garnered any response unless the response would be obvious in Udonta's intent. It might be a simple opening of his mouth at mealtime--and Kraglin still wasn't sure why Udonta wouldn't feed himself--or pulling his arm away so Kraglin wouldn't take him to the toilet if he didn't need to go. Kraglin didn't know why he'd wasted his breath on asking a question that couldn't be answered with a single, simple motion. 

"Take a moment. We need to get moving again."

Udonta stayed still and the only thing that told Kraglin he was even aware of Kraglin's presence was the fact that, when Kraglin attempted to withdraw his hand, Udonta followed with his wrist. It was strange and Kraglin didn't know if it was a comfort-seeking thing or if Udonta thought he had to, if he was taking it as Kraglin telling him to get moving again.

Kraglin gave him several minutes of calm, peaceful breathing before he looked up and down the hall and nodded to himself. "Right. Let's get going." He took a step away from Udonta and Udonta followed. "And open your eyes."

Udonta opened his eyes the moment he was told, meeting Kraglin's accidentally as he did so. Immediately, he squeezed them shut and bowed his head. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and pressed both wrists against Kraglin's hand.

"Keep them open," Kraglin said. He was getting really tired of this and they weren't even halfway through to their new quarters yet. It was the longest, hardest trek he ever remembered taking and he'd walked through the desert heat of the colony at the height of summer on his way to go check in with the miners for a school report.

Udonta didn't raise his head, but Kraglin was pretty sure he did open his eyes again. Kraglin was, honestly, willing to take that as a small victory. They moved more swiftly, Udonta keeping his wrists pressed against Kraglin's hand as though the contact was a lifeline taking him through some kind of hazardous terrain. It was unnerving. Udonta was significantly taller than he was and Kraglin was pretty sure if he wasn't half-starved still, he'd be broader, too. Having him seek touch as though it was the only way to survive through something unbearable was strange. Kraglin had never felt younger in his life. He wasn't prepared for this.

He heaved a sigh of relief as they went into their quarters and pulled away from Udonta. "Do you want the top or bottom bunk?" he asked politely. He figured it was a better idea to do that than to tell Udonta. After all, Udonta would need to start making decisions soon. They'd be going through the mess hall line to get food, not having it delivered, effective immediately. Udonta would need to tell the cooks what he wanted or he might end up with something that wasn't biologically compatible. 

Udonta stood in the middle of the room, swaying slightly. He looked downright worn out, but he didn't raise his eyes, didn't look to see what Kraglin was asking and Kraglin sighed, then repeated the question in Standard. Still no response, so Kraglin made the decision, as much as he didn't know if he should. 

"Bottom, then." He didn't fancy trying to get Udonta up onto the top bunk if he was too weak or too tired.

Udonta didn't move. He stood there, looking unmoored in the middle of a room that was honestly a bit on the small side, even by Kraglin's colony's standards, for two people. He somehow managed to look like he'd been abandoned in the middle of the desert with walls practically closing in on him. 

"Why don't you lay down for awhile before dinner?" He couldn't remember how to phrase it in Standard, so he let the Xandarian linger between them.

Udonta stood still and clamped his eyes shut. Kraglin sighed and gently touched his wrists. He wracked his brain for the right words. "Lay down. Sleep."

Udonta's body relaxed and he followed as Kraglin moved him towards the bunk. As soon as his shins touched it, he all but dove in and curled into the back corner, eyes tightly shut, ankles together and wrists crossed.

It reminded Kraglin a little too much of the position the body had been in, the body he'd seen in the building and he took a deep breath. "I'm going to be on the top bunk," he said after a moment. 

He clambered up and lay flat, ankles crossed, and looked at the ceiling. He tried not to think about how far from the floor he was. His fear of heights was definitely not as easy to kick as he’d thought it would be. He might have to ask for more cleaning duties so he could shake it before some other Ravager figured it out. He wished he could take the bottom bunk. He'd been sleeping there a couple nights. Hopefully, Udonta wouldn't object to the blankets having been used a little. They weren't dirty, just slightly used.

  
  
  
  


As it turned out, dinner was a problem. Udonta followed Kraglin into the mess hall without any trouble. His eyes flicked around, taking it in. There were quite a few people and his eyes had lit on each of them in turn until Kraglin realized the red was practically disappearing into a sea of terrified white. Inexplicably, Udonta whistled a short, lilting tone then hunched in on himself. Some kind of panic attack, perhaps? 

"Hey, no, calm down," he commanded. 

Udonta clamped his eyes shut and breathed shallowly through his nose. He seemed terrified and Kraglin couldn't' figure out what he might be afraid of. Everyone appeared to be working not to look at Udonta, not to stare. No one was making any effort to meet Kraglin's eyes, let alone the Centaurian's. They weren't approaching. It wasn't near as overwhelming as it could be and Kraglin had carefully picked one of the least popular times to go for dinner, so the mess hall was maybe only half full.

"Calm down," he repeated, Standard syllables harsh in his throat. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. "We're just getting food." He placed his hand against Udonta's wrists. It seemed to bring the Centaurian comfort, but not enough to slow his breathing.

Kraglin sighed. "Why don't we get seats in the corner and I'll go get food?"

There was no response. Of course there was no response. There never was, was there? It looked like the pattern was going to be Kraglin trying to figure out what he was meant to do and Udonta not giving him anything back. He steeled himself and took Udonta back to an empty table near a wall. The next couple of tables just had lone diners, people who didn't seem to want to be disturbed. He hoped it would be isolated enough to give Udonta a moment to collect himself. 

Udonta sat obediently when pressed into a chair. 

"You're going to have to tell me what food to get for you," Kraglin said. He didn't actually know what Udonta ate. So far, whoever had brought their food to the med-bay had brought things that were safe, things Doc had chosen. Kraglin was rapidly discovering that he, himself, could eat most things, even things that whoever was on galley duty raised an eyebrow at him trying. He had a pretty good idea that he was immune to most toxins that would wreck Xandarians and each meal was proving him right, so far. He honestly had no idea what Udonta could eat.

When he thought about it, he wasn't sure Udonta would know, either. If he’d never been responsible for making his food choices before, how could he know? "Okay, new plan. I am talking to the cooks. You are sitting here and wait for me."

Udonta, as ever, didn't bother to acknowledge. Kraglin had no idea if he'd heard, no idea if he cared. He let go of Udonta's wrists and hurried into the food line. He fidgeted worriedly as he waited his turn, glancing back at Udonta regularly. It didn't sit right with him, leaving the Centaurian in unfamiliar terrain, but he didn't know what else to do. The line wasn't so long, so it would probably be fine.

He leaned across the counter to talk to the cook, find out what would suit Udonta, which things had already been brought so he'd know what was safe. He didn't think he'd been talking long, thought it had only been a couple of seconds, really, when a piercing whistle made him whirl around.

Another whistle split the air and Kraglin’s eyes widened. Udonta was standing, eyes wild. He looked completely terrified, as if he were some kind of cornered animal. He whistled again, then again, several different tones in succession. He looked around, his shoulders rising and falling visibly with the effort to suck in breaths. His next whistle was weaker and Kraglin ran across the room to get to him.

"Hey, sit down," Kraglin told him. Surely if he got Udonta sat down, maybe touched his wrist, he'd be able to calm down.

No such luck, though. Udonta glared at him, sucked in a deep breath and whistled as loudly as he could. Kraglin didn't know what he was expecting to happen, but he saw that, whatever it was, it didn't. He saw the exact moment that Udonta realized it wasn't going to happen. Despair hit his eyes and his breathing changed, the deep, sucking breaths turning shallow and fluttery. 

Kraglin put his hand on Udonta's wrists, but it didn't seem to help. Udonta's breathing continued to speed up and his face whirled around, taking in every part of the mess hall at once. There were short, burbling chirps as he whistled in between attempts to catch his breath, but the panic seemed to rise. 

"Calm down," Kraglin begged in Standard. He didn't know why Udonta was so scared, he just knew he was. He knew this couldn't be easy on Udonta’s system, not with as sick as he'd been. Udonta didn't seem to be able to calm, though, eyes still rolling around.

Kraglin pressed his lips together and considered everything, then took a chance. Carefully, he put one his free hand over Udonta's eyes, blocking his view of the rest of the mess-hall. The effect was almost immediate. Udonta slumped in place, his chest heaving. He swayed forwards and backwards, so Kraglin pulled him forwards with an insistent tug to his wrists. He leaned against Kraglin's hands and Kraglin could literally see the tension leaving his body.

People were staring now, obviously unable to help it after all the noise. Kraglin glared at a few people. "What are you looking at, asshole?" he demanded of one of them.

"Dunno. Why don't you tell me?"

"Why don't you go get me some food?" Kraglin countered. "Don't think Stakar'd be too happy to find you sitting there staring at one of the people we rescued rather than jumping in to help, do you?"

"Who the hell do you think you are?" the guy asked. Kraglin didn't know him and suspected he was someone who'd been there significantly longer than Kraglin had. Not that it was hard to have been, but he held himself with some kind of authority and Kraglin thought maybe he'd overstepped a little.

"I'm the guy who's busy keeping this poor guy from losing his mind. You know who you are? You're the guy who's going to help me get some food into him."

Udonta was swaying a little and Kraglin carefully backed him into a chair, sitting him down. He wasn't sure he was quite strong enough to get Udonta back up off the ground if he needed to. He didn't trust the other Ravagers to help him, either.

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to, kid?" the Ravager asked.

"Some asshole with his head so far up his ass he could bite off his own tonsils," Kraglin snarked, the words coming out before he'd even thought them through.

There was a low 'oooooh' from several of the nearby tables and Kraglin was now absolutely certain he'd fucked up. That kind of sound usually preceded a fight. Which usually preceded Stakar stalking into a room and breaking it up personally. Kraglin had seen it once or twice and had heard rumours of some of the more impressive fights.

"You wanna repeat that to my face?" The man's voice was nearer by and Kraglin braced himself to get punched.

He didn't dare back down, though, not with so many watching. If he caved, he'd forever be known as that kid who couldn't back up his shit and even if he couldn't, trying would count for something. "Yeah, I'd like to, but maybe you can see I'm a little busy here?"

"I can make you not busy," the man threatened.

"I doubt that. My orders are from the captain directly and I don't intend to disobey him. If you wanna make me, that's on you but I am gonna tell him if he asks. And I guarantee he'll ask."

"All talk," the man said.

Kraglin closed his eyes a second, searching for some source of patience. He didn't have much there. He was tired and cranky and he was pretty sure that he wasn't going to get a lick of downtime for a long time. Udonta needed too much from him. "Maybe. Maybe not. If you're not too stupid to figure out that you shouldn't test me, feel free to take yourself over to the food line and grab me and Udonta some food. If you're stupid enough to take a swing, get it over with so I can put an end to this and get on with my day."

Three things happened at once, or close enough as made no difference in later retellings. A fist connected with the side of Kraglin's head, making his left ear ring and throb like nothing else. Kraglin's second set of teeth extended, further than he'd ever felt them, far enough they actually forced his mouth open. It was terrifying and he felt out of control, the urge to turn and rip completely overwhelming. The third thing, however, was the surprising thing. Udonta lunged out of the chair, knocking Kraglin to the side. He grabbed hold of the older Ravager by the throat and swung him to the ground.

By the time Kraglin got a look over, Udonta was kneeling on the Ravager's chest, a knife pressed against his throat. Everyone nearby had gone still and silent and Udonta looked from Kraglin to the Ravager, his gaze moving back and forth rapidly. When Kraglin's eyes met his, he held them, pressing the knife down harder, just enough to make green blood well up over the edge of the blade.

"No," Kraglin snapped. It didn't sound right and he hoped it wasn't too garbled for Udonta's translator. His jaw wouldn't close properly--in fact it felt like it could open wider than it ever had before--and he couldn't be sure the word made sense to anyone but himself. 

Udonta tipped his head to the side, the movement feral, questioning. He wanted answers. Kraglin didn't have them and even if he did, he couldn't give them with his teeth extended so thoroughly.

"No!" he repeated, managing to get it just a tiny bit clearer. 

Udonta withdrew the knife slowly, as if testing to see what would happen.

Kraglin nodded and motioned with one hand to back away. The green blood was trickling from the wound on the Ravager's neck and Kraglin had to keep his eyes locked on Udonta, because the urge to turn the trickle into a flood was overwhelming. His heart pounded with it and he felt saliva dripping down his chin in anticipation.

Udonta moved very slowly, backing away from the Ravager. He looked all around him, the knife extended. He was ready to kill, that much was clear, and he wasn't going to be stopped if he decided he needed to.

Kraglin held out his hand towards the knife. Udonta wasn't supposed to have weapons in their quarters and Kraglin was fairly certain that Udonta shouldn't have weapons at all. Udonta made no movement to hand it over and Kraglin shook his hand demandingly.

"The kid's got a flarking Kree battle slave ready to do his bidding," came the low, impressed tone s of someone directly behind him.

Kraglin turned to see who it was. He was surprised to see how thoroughly the ranks had closed around him, a circle of people ready to watch violence. It kept his heart pounding. He was surrounded. He could see weaker links, people he could go straight through in order to get out. His jaw ached with the urge to move, to get free. He made himself turn back to Udonta.

"No," he repeated, and stepped towards Udonta. He put his hand on the blue wrist holding the knife and Udonta simply let go, dropping the knife to the ground with a metallic clatter that made Kraglin flinch. He needed to get Udonta back to their quarters, then he could see about getting food. It was obvious that it had been too soon to take Udonta out to the mess and he was probably going to end up paying for that. No doubt Stakar would be furious.

He gave a short jerk to Udonta's wrist and started tugging him along. It was better to get out of the mess and back to their quarters before Stakar caught up to them. He didn't want to think about what Udonta might do if Stakar came thundering in and threatened everyone. He was a powerful man, a man who could command a whole room without a second thought. Kraglin was sure his charge would see that as a threat, much as he'd seen the attack on Kraglin as a threat. 

The crowd parted as Kraglin moved. No one wanted to get too close and no one tried to stop them. They moved together swiftly through the silent mess hall and towards the door. It was like a ripple effect as they got closer to the door. Whispers started. The silence was before them and the whispers were behind, like the waters of an ocean hitting a breakwall. Kraglin didn't like it. It felt sinister and he wasn't sure what they were saying, the soft murmurs melding into a hissing noise that seemed to follow him out. 

He didn't pause, though. He didn't let it stop him. He was on a mission. He needed to get Udonta to safety and get himself away from the threat before he did something he'd regret. He needed to move quickly. He saw Martinex coming down the hallway at a run. Martinex looked like he was going to try to stop him, so he shook his head sharply and continued down the hallway.

"Obfonteri, hold up," Martinex demanded.

Kraglin kept moving. It wasn't so far to their quarters, not really. He needed to get back to safety, let Udonta curl up on his bunk or stalk around, whatever it was he was going to do. He needed to get himself calmed down so he could talk again, get his teeth to retract. He was scared. Everything was spiralling out of his control. Everything was messed up and he didn't know what was going to happen to him. Maybe he'd end up tossed out an airlock. He was failing at his job, after all and he’d heard Ravagers did that. It was one simple job. Just keep Udonta out of trouble. He hadn't even managed it a full day, though.

"I said hold up!" Martinex repeated.

Kraglin tugged Udonta into a jog, trying not to kick him as he went and trying not to move too fast. He had no idea how fast Centaurians could run, was the trouble. Kraglin was a good sprinter. He knew that was abnormal for Xandarians. He didn't think many other species could keep up with him at a full run, from what he’d heard. He tried to keep a pace slow enough for Udonta to keep up, to make sure there was no way that Udonta could get left behind, no way he'd be dragging him, but he heard footsteps behind them.

More than one set of footsteps. Martinex was coming and he had someone with him and Kraglin panicked. He broke into a full run, practically ripping Udonta's arm out of the socket as he bolted. He was surprised and somewhat pleased to see that Udonta could just about keep up. Udonta might have been able to at peak condition, but he came damn close for being half starved and still injured. Gradually, the foosteps faded behind them.

He got himself into their quarters, shoved Udonta at his bunk and ran to the second door. Yes, he was breaking the rules. Yes, that was probably going to bite him in the ass. But he needed to get himself under control before anyone caught up to him. 

Udonta was already curled up, ankles and wrists crossed, eyes closed tightly, by the time Kraglin turned from locking the doors. Kraglin watched him a moment, decided that he wasn't in any danger, nor was he any danger to Kraglin, and he sank down to sit on the floor, his head resting on his knees. What had he been thinking? He was going to be in so much trouble. He was going to get tossed off the ship or spaced. He'd almost let Udonta kill someone.

He'd failed as a Ravager. And the first mate of the ship was pounding at the door, demanding to be let in, and shouting through his wrist comm for Stakar to come. Kraglin was in  so much  trouble. 

**Author's Note:**

> This should update 1-2x per week as everything gets betaed and double checked. Stories this long need the editing.


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